Distant Soldier
by SullyR
Summary: Dean is raised as the merciless soldier, so what happens when he is finally supposed to take care of his younger brother who was raised by his Uncle Bobby? A lot of drama and chaos and angry Winchesters. 18 yr old Dean, 14 yr old Sam -this could be in a series with different parts to the story
1. Chapter 1

_Crying . . . there was crying. The young boy looked down at the small bundle in his arms and stared in awe. Then he jumped, startled. He looked up at the large man in front of him that barked orders at him and the next thing he knew, he was running out of the house, being careful not to drop the tiny thing in his arms._

_Flashing red lights, loud ringing sirens, a fire flaming through the windows of his parents' bedroom._

_What was going on? He wondered. He stared down at the bundle in his arms and held it tighter to his chest for comfort. Where was Daddy? What happened to Mommy? He asked himself._

_Large men in heavy yellow suits were everywhere, some ran into his house and some came to him, scaring him a little bit. A few seconds later to his relief, he saw his father running breathlessly out of the house towards him._

"_Dean? Dean, are you okay? How's Sammy?" his father asked. His eyes shone bright in the flaming night. He nodded to his dad but glanced back at the house._

"_Where's Mommy?" he asked, his tiny, innocent sounding voice broke the heart of the man that had stood before him, holding the baby he'd taken into his arms. His father closed his eyes and Dean noticed a small tear run down his dad's cheek. "Hm?"_

_Taking a shuddering breath and staring down at his young boy, he bent down to Dean's small height and looked him in the eye. "Mommy's not coming back, Dean," he said softly. He kept his gaze on his boy and almost broke it because the innocence and curiosity his boy had been nearly enough to break his wall of strength. _

_John felt movement against his big chest and looked down to see his tiny, withering newborn, Samuel. He covered his eyes with his free hand. "What am I going to do?" he whispered to himself. He heard low sniffles and looked forward to see Dean almost ready to cry. The little four-year-old boy ran into his father's arms, careful not to hurt his little brother, and squeezed tight into his father's comforting and protective embrace._

"_M-Mommy!" Dean cried. John rubbed Dean's back and shushed him softly as he watched his boy sob into his chest, damping his night shirt._

"_Shh, it's alright, Dean," he said. He stared ahead at nothing with determined eyes. He was going to do something about this. He will find the one that took away his Mary. He will do anything and everything to find out the truth. He looked down at Dean. He looked down at Samuel. He shook his head slightly._

_Sammy has to be kept safe. He looked at Dean again. He pulled Dean away from him slightly and lifted his chin so his son's teary eyes looked at him._

"_Dean, are you gonna be alright staying with me?" he asked him. Dean wiped his eyes._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_We have to keep Sammy safe from danger, isn't that right?" he asked. Dean nodded. "It's our job to protect this family, we're the big boys, right?" Dean nodded again. "So what are we gonna do to protect our family and keep each other safe?"_

"_Become strong so we can protect Mommy and Sammy!" Dean looked at the house that was now washed away from flames. "No more danger, Daddy," he said, his tiny hands forming into tiny, cute fists of determination. John nodded and smiled._

"_That's my boy."_

* * *

"Dean, got the salt?" John asked. He looked towards his eldest son, his back towards him. Dean nodded, not turning around when he tossed the cylinder behind him knowing his father caught it. "Loaded the guns?" the sound of several guns being reloaded was heard. John nodded his approval even if his son didn't see it. "Keys?" Dean slapped the side of his pants pocket, hearing the sound of jingling silver and bronze. John looked around the motel room for anything else they needed to pack up. "Clothes? Toothbrushes? Toothpaste? Deodorant?" John named off the items from his mental list of supplies.

"I got everything packed," Dean said. He carried the large duffel outside to the trunk of the Impala and set it down carefully. He set the guns neatly under the trunk space where their other weapons were stored.

John walked out of the motel carrying everything else and locking the door behind him. He walked up next to Dean and set the other baggage and supplies in the trunk. He looked at his son and noticed the light stubble growing around his son's jaw area and up his cheekbones a little, the outline of his soon-to-be manly beard.

"Two things that we need," he said, his deep voice rumbling in Dean's ears. Dean stepped back a little.

John looked at him. "Coffee and a shaver," he said, motioning to his own face as a sign for Dean to notice his own beard.

Dean touched his face and felt the stubble. A small smirk appeared across his lips.

"Coming closer to bein' a man?" he said, grinning with his sparkling white teeth blinding John's eyes. John scoffed.

"Heh, trying to be like me?" Dean instantly shook his head as he took his seat in the passenger side of the car.

"Hell no! With that gorilla of a beard, I'm okay!" he laughed as he saw his dad's reaction. "I'm kidding! I'll shave later. So when's the next hunt? What are we hunting?" Dean asked. John turned on the radio and a song from Nickelback was playing. He wasn't used to this kind of music, so he shut it back off. He started the car and started back on the road.

"We're going to Bobby's. There are no hunts right now, so we can take some time to relax and see your brother," John said. He saw how Dean visibly tensed and turned away slightly.

"I can look for a hunt, I'm still pumped up from that last one, with the wolf," Dean said quickly, flexing his biceps to show his dad that he was all good. John shook his head.

"We're taking a break. You've been working out too much and you've been overdoing it on hunts. If you do any more extra stuff, you'll damage yourself," John said. Dean snickered and looked out on the road.

"I'm just trying to do my best so I don't screw up."

"You never do."

"'Course I don't. I'm your soldier," he said quietly. John glanced at him. He resisted running his hand through Dean's hair to show his affection and acknowledgment but that part of him, his soft side, had died down over the years.

"What's so bad about going to Bobby's place?" John asked. He made a right turn on the road and stared ahead, concentration on the moving road and passing signs of direction.

"Nothing . . ."

"Is it about Sam?"

"What about him?"

"You barely speak his name like how you used to a couple of years ago, you were always saying 'Sammy should see this' or 'I wish Sammy was here.' What happened?" John usually didn't bother talking about sentimental things like this but he just couldn't help but ask. He had front seats in seeing the distance between the two brothers. He knew because of his 'job' that he was separating Sam and Dean, but even so, he made time to go see Sam who was in the care of his good old friend, Bobby Singer. What he just didn't understand was why Dean would avoid his younger brother?

"I'm too old to think things like that," Dean said. He brought his hand up to his mouth to stop it from shaking. "I'd just rather do things involving the family business, and like you said, 'keep Sam safe', I'm basically doing what you asked me," he said, giving his father a short look of assurance.

John sighed. "Avoiding him isn't keeping him safe. How will you know if he's okay or not?"

"He can talk. There are three grown men around when we go there, me, you, and Bobby. He can let his tiny voice box work," Dean said, his voice sounding deeper than usual. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, and? He has no one to talk to. He doesn't want to talk to older guys like me and Bobby. I'm sure that he'd feel much more comfortable if he was talking to his older brother."

"No way. He's been living with Bobby for all his life now, the guy's like a second father to him. Me? I'm like a distant uncle."

"Dean, you gotta stop being distant from Sam."

"I'm not hurting him in any way, Dad."

"Dean."

Dean sighed from his dad's tone of voice. "Pain in the ass," he muttered. John was getting tired of hearing his eldest speak.

"Take a nap or something," he said. Dean gave a huff and slumped down in his seat pulling shades over his green eyes.

"Gladly," he mumbled before closing his eyes and snored softly for the ride to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

* * *

The roar of an engine being cut off sounded through Bobby's ears. He stood up from the couch and set his book down and started for the door to the porch. "Seems like they're here," he said to himself. He walked up to the Impala and watched the two men step out from the car.

"Hey, John," Bobby said, giving the guy a quick hug and a hand shake. "How was the hunt?"

"Barely did anything. Dean did all the work," John said. Dean rounded the car, duffel hanging from his shoulder.

"He said I was being greedy." Bobby nodded and chuckled. He gave the teenager a hug and a somewhat hard backslap.

"I take it the hunt went well," he said. The two older Winchesters nodded.

As they made their way back to the large house, John spotted a figure hiding behind the door.

"Sammy?" he called. The fourteen-year-old came out of hiding, shocking John a bit. Dean just hurried his pace and passed the kid on his way in, not saying a word. "My God! Have you gotten taller?" Sam nodded.

"This kid just won't stop growing, I swear, someday he's gonna break the doorway with his head," Bobby said loudly. Sam chuckled. He came up to John and hugged him. John shook his hand through Sam's curly brown hair.

"You need a haircut." Sam shook his head, his hair slapping his eyes.

"No, Dad, I like my hair this way," he said. His dad chuckled.

"I see you're going through puberty," John laughed. Sam blushed brightly.

"What's so funny?" he blushed even more when his voice cracked. _Crap!_

Bobby cleared his throat, gathering their attention. "I bought some burgers and sodas, so let's hurry up and eat . . . unless Dean has already gotten to the food." Everyone made a dash for the front door.

Boy, was Sam starving! His growth spurts and puberty and now his increase in his appetite! He knew that it put a strain on Bobby but he knew the old man didn't mind.

The three males made it to the kitchen and surprisingly, the other Winchester wasn't anywhere in the room. John and Bobby started taking the food out of the paper bags and Sam licked his lips hungrily. He hadn't eaten anything all day; he was so into this book about the lore of dragons! It was _awesome! _

"Sam," at the mention of his name, he looked up at his father. "Can you get your brother down here? Tell him we have food and he needs to get his ass here or else it'll be gone before he makes it down."

"Save me three!" Sam said before dashing upstairs, almost tripping on the last stair because his foot was caught under the wood. He cursed his long legs for being slow to his quick movements. He quickly made his way down the hall to his bedroom which he shared with Dean. Once he opened the door, he was shocked to find his older brother down on the ground shirtless, doing pushups. He saw the sheet of sweat covering his brother's muscular back and commented to himself how amazing his brother's body was. The young teenager gave a small groan in his throat to get the attention of his athlete of a brother.

Dean didn't stop doing his pushups. Up and down he kept going with ease as he gave a "Hm?" to acknowledge the presence of another Winchester in the room.

"Um . . . there's food downstairs," Sam said quietly. He watched his brother do a few more pushups before he finally responded.

"Save me some, I'll be down in a while," Dean said, his voice sounding heavy and deep from the exercise. Sam nodded.

"Okay . . ." Sam hadn't left yet, watching his brother. He wondered if it'd be stupid to ask how his brother can do that many pushups without dying. He decided the question would be stupid so he left quickly and nearly grew wings to fly down the stairs.

"Where's Dean?" asked Bobby, taking a bite that was half of the cheeseburger in his hands. Sam sat down at the table next to Bobby.

"He's upstairs doing pushups," Sam said, grabbing for his three burgers that he had claimed before he left the kitchen. He took a bite and moaned at the taste of such a perfectly cooked burger. Since his appetite changed, he even had a liking to garbage like this, but he wasn't going to say that aloud. "He said to save him some burgers," he said through bites of his burger.

John watched his youngest eat like a beast. He gave Bobby a look of "what the hell?" and the other man just shrugged. He took a bite of his burger and drunk a sip of his soda. "The hell is wrong with him?" he stood from the table and went upstairs, nearly stomping the staircase as if he was auditioning for the part of Big Foot.

Busting the bedroom door open, John barked out, "DEAN!" Even at the loud intrusion, that did not stop Dean from pushing in a few more pushups till he sensed his dad almost make a grab for his neck. "I told you to stop and relax! Why are you still exercising?"

"What? Am I not allowed to get stronger?" Dean asked. He stood up from the floor and flexed out his back and arms. "Ah . . ." he flinched slightly as he felt pain in the middle of his back. "Shit."

"See? You did injure yourself. The damned wolf threw you on the hood of a car," John said angrily as he came up behind Dean to get a closer look. In the darkness of the room you can barely see it, but there was a large red and skinned scar going down the middle of Dean's back. John touched it and Dean flinched away.

"Don't fuckin' touch it, Dad!" Dean hissed. John pointed an angry finger at him.

"After you're done eating, I'm checking your back out." Dean nodded, annoyed, and left the room and headed down the stairs with John following behind him. In the light of the hallway, John saw freshly how bright red the scar was, good thing it was still new so it was treatable.

Dean walked into the kitchen shirtless and sweaty. He walked in and fetched three burgers and slapped them in front of him. He took Sam's still full soda and put it in front of him. _Geez, this kid's a waste. _He didn't eat all morning. If Sam was gonna waste his food or drinks, at least let someone else have it that'll finish it.

"God, Dean, what is this? At least clean yourself up," Bobby commented on Dean's appearance. Dean took the rag that was hooked in his belt loop and wiped the sweat from his face and neck.

Sam watched his brother wipe his face and neck and he hid the blush with his long hair. _He looks like a model!_ He cleared his throat and continued eating his last burger. He occasionally glanced at Dean while the other Winchester just ignored his presence completely.

John saw this and nudged Dean's elbow. "So, what do you plan on doing with your brother, Dean?" he asked aloud, getting everyone's attention. Dean swallowed his food and looked at his dad.

"What do you mean?" he asked. He took a sip of the soda and stared at the older Winchester. John nodded toward Sam.

"Quality brother time or whatever you call it."

"I think he's too old for that," Dean answered instantly. His dad huffed at him and shook his head.

Bobby saw Sam shake his head slightly, disagreeing with what his brother said.

"You say that every time," said John, his tone of voice sounding slightly irritated.

"Um," Sam spoke up. All eyes except for Dean's were focused on him. "I have a project for school," he said quietly. "We were assigned groups but I was the only one left out," he said shyly. He scratched his hair, slightly nervous.

Dean scoffed silently. _Pathetic. Group projects suck ass, thank God I didn't stay in school for too long. Well, there isn't really 'God'—okay, thank the Leprechaun from Lucky Charms, yeah, that's it!_

"Great, Sammy!" John slapped Dean's back, not noticing the flinch he gave and the muttered "fuck" he uttered out. "Dean, you're gonna help Sam with his project." Dean nearly hissed at his father.

"Hell no am I wasting my time doing some middle school project. Just burn it and say fuck it," Dean said through gritted teeth as he stood up from the table, grabbing his soda and making his way out of the kitchen.

Sam gasped as he caught sight of his brother's back. "D-Dean, are you alright?" Sam stood from his seat and went after Dean. Dean left into the bathroom for privacy only to be barged in on by his little brother.

"Goddammit, kid!" Dean yelled. Sam stepped back a bit away from Dean.

"A-Are you alright?" he asked worriedly.

"What?" Dean was pissed. _Can't even piss in peace. _"Just get out!" he shoved the kid out of the bathroom and locked the door, ready to do his business.

Sam stood stunned outside the bathroom stared at the door and just stood there listening to the noises coming from inside. When Dean came back out, he sighed and rolled his eyes and walked past Sam back into the kitchen. Sam followed Dean, his eyes locked on his brother's dangerously injured back.

Dean caught Sam's staring but ignored it. He bent slightly, reaching into the fridge he opened to take out a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Dean?" Dean turned around and looked at his father. He shrugged at him.

"What do you want?"

John was starting to lose his patience with Dean's attitude. "Apologize to your brother."

"For what?"

"You think that yelling at him because he's worried about you is alright?" John asked. Dean took a swig from the bottle. He gritted his teeth, vexed.

"I don't see why I need to apologize. Dad, can you just fix up my back like you said you would?" Dean asked impatiently. He was getting tired of this whole thing. This is the shit regular people argue about and Dean's not gonna stand here and do that. His dad huffed at him.

"Not until you apologize to Sammy."

Sam noticed the tight grip his brother had on the bottle of Jack.

"I-It's alright. I was pestering him . . ." Sam chimed in quietly. John shook his head.

"No, it's not alright. This family will not tolerate any kind of disrespect like that." John glared at his eldest. "Well?" Dean took another drink and stood up in a more defensive way. Sam noticed how his muscles looked more visible in the light of Dean's new standing position.

"So you're not gonna fix my back?" Dean asked. John stood up so aggressively that the chair he was sitting on scraped roughly against Bobby's tiled floors.

"Get the fuck out Dean!" John yelled. Sam flinched as his father's outburst ran throughout the house. Dean's jaw clenched tightly as he took his rag and slapped it over his shoulder. He picked out another bottle from the fridge before quickly dodging out of the house, getting away from the intense atmosphere.

Sam looked from his father to his brother leaving the house. Bobby stood across the room, stunned. He didn't know how to respond either.

John rubbed his face tiredly as he silently apologized to the both of them and headed upstairs to the guest room to rest for the evening.

Sam looked at Bobby. "What . . . What should I do?" he asked him. Bobby cleared his throat.

"Why don't you start up on the project of yours, or maybe read that dragon book? I'll go fetch Dean and clean up his back," Bobby said. Sam nodded and went into the living room and sat on the couch, grabbing his book from the coffee table and began reading.

After fifteen minutes of looking for Dean, Bobby found him in the junk yard sitting on an old car and groaning in pain. Bobby shook his head, devastated. "You and your father are just a bunch of idjits."

Dean looked up at the sound of Bobby's voice. "Yeah, Bobby?"

"Let's go. It's chilly out here, you're half naked, you have an injured back, you're gonna get sick, and I'm gonna fix your back. Now get your dramatic ass back in the house!" Bobby yelled. Dean stared wide-eyed at Bobby. Dean chuckled before hopping off of the car. Bobby pulled on a soft smile, knowing that Dean was going to listen to him at least just this once. They both quickly walked back to the house in no time.

Disinfectant, cotton balls, bandages, and stitches and a bottle of Jack—all the things Bobby will need to fix up Dean. Bobby had Sam sit on the other couch across from them so that Dean could lie on his stomach.

Sam felt bad for his older brother. He watched him hiss and groan in pain as Bobby wiped disinfectant over the injury. Then he began to stitch up the gash and he couldn't help but flinch as Dean would slightly twitch in pain. A few times Dean cursed and so did Bobby because Dean would move so much that he would mess up. Even Sam cursed at watching the whole thing. Once Bobby was done, Dean groaned out loud, "Fuuuck!"

Bobby slapped on some Jack Daniels and the two older men took sips of the liquor.

Dean stood up slowly and was careful not to stretch too much as his now patched up back was as stiff as a board. He glanced at Bobby. "Thanks Bobby." Bobby smiled.

"No problem, boy." He looked at Sam. "Before y'all go to bed," he pointed a finger at Dean, "apologize. I know how you feel towards Sam, but still, getting overworked like that wasn't right. He's your younger brother Dean, he's always gonna be worried about you. An injury like that is serious and you shouldn't brush it off as nothin'. You understand me?" Bobby asked, his eyes serious. Dean looked back at the older man and nodded.

"I understand, Bobby," Dean said, trying to lay back on the soldier talk. Bobby smiled and tapped Dean's shoulder. "G'night you idjits," he said as he made his way up the stairs and to his room to go to bed for the night.

"'Night Bobby," both Winchester boys said. Dean moved up towards Sam and looked down at him.

Sam stood awkwardly in front of his brother. He's never actually stood before him before because he was always being avoided of contact. There've been only faraway glances. But up close and personal with Dean . . . Sam felt like he was seeing a new person!

Dean bent down slightly so that he was face to face with his younger brother. He cleared his throat to get Sam's attention and to clear up his uneasiness.

"Listen, Sam . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm just not comfortable with you getting worked up because of me, alright?" Dean said as gently as he could. He sighed inwardly when Sam nodded.

"Um . . . Dean?"

"What is it?"

"Why don't you . . . Why don't you, um . . . not like me?" Sam asked. Dean resisted rolling his eyes and muttering "ugh."

"Sam, it's not that I don't like you . . . it's just that . . ." _Damn, how the fuck can I put this into words?_ "I'd rather keep to myself. I feel that I don't really need to be in contact with you," he said.

Sam looked up at him. "Dad said that you're distant because you want to protect me. Is that true?" Dean looked at the fourteen-year-old, who for some reason looked younger.

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why don't you talk to me? Or do stuff that brothers do? Like hanging out and talk about cars and stuff?" Sam asked.

"Let's just get to bed. It's no use in answering useless questions like that," Dean answered. He made his way for the stairs but Sam stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

"Dean, you're my big brother. . . . You know that don't you?" Sam asked hesitantly. Dean, feeling slightly uncomfortable from the contact, forcibly pulled Sam's hand off of him.

"Listen, _Sammy. _I am Dean 'fucking' Winchester. I am fully aware that I am your older brother, so what of it? Just 'cuz I'm your bro you expect me to do things with you?" Dean asked. Now he was getting irritated. The kid just kept berating him with questions.

"Yes!" Sam's voice cracked. He looked down to the floor. "I . . . I go out of my way to try and interact with you but all you do is push me away!" Dean grinded his teeth together. _I'm just about to do it now._

"I'm going to bed." Dean walked up the stairs in his stride and made his way for his shared bedroom and flopped down on his bed.

Downstairs, slight tears were forming in Sam's hazel eyes. He rubbed the tears away and slowly made his way upstairs. _Does Dean hate me? Did I do something wrong? Just what happened? I remember us being so close . . . but then he just broke our bonds . . . Why would he do that?_

Dean watched as the door to their bedroom opened and watched as Sam came in sniffling. He watched the kid go over to his bed and flop lifelessly on the mattress. Dean sighed. _Can't even close the Goddamn door._ He got up from his comfortable position and slammed the door shut. He looked back at Sam who curled in on himself. "Ugh . . ." _Pathetic. What a crybaby. _He continued to watch Sam's quivering form. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. _Do I have to deal with this shit all night?_ He asked himself. Dean walked over to Sam's bed and looked down at him. "Dude, can you like, shut the fuck up?" he asked. In a second Sam stopped his shaking. He unfolded himself and stared at Dean with tear-streaked eyes.

"Fuck you!" Sam yelled. Dean's eyes went wide. _The fuck—_"I don't know what the hell I did to make you so angry! Why don't you like me anymore? You never talk, you never look at me, you don't even say my fucking name!" Sam yelled. "Whatever I did or whatever I didn't do, Dean . . . I'm sorry . . ." Sam cried. Dean looked at him. The kid whispered an apology again and that's when Dean snapped out of it.

"Wha—Sam?" Dean just stared at his little brother, stunned by his outburst. Instantly, by looking at Sam's teary, droopy eyes, Dean felt as if he was ten again, when he had to put six-year-old Sam to sleep. Sam was tired, but compared to him, Dean was exhausted, and his bed was just so _far_ away all of a sudden. Dean cleared his throat.

"Sammy, you didn't do anything wrong," he said quietly. He sat down next to him on the bed. He rubbed the tears from his eyes. He was shocked when he felt Sam's skin, his cheeks all puffy and slightly wet . . . his skin was soft. Dean hadn't felt soft skin for so long . . . "I'm really sorry, baby brother," he said. He gently reached out to pat Sam's hair and when he felt Sam lean into his touch, he let him.

Sam hadn't felt his brother's presence and comforting embrace in so long, so he leaned in to feel that same sensation he had felt when he was younger. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around Dean's waist as he brought himself closer to his older brother. He wasn't going to let him go just yet.

Dean slowly rocked them from side to side and hummed softly, running his hand through Sam's hair which he knew was a trick to get Sam all sleepy and tingly inside. He soothingly whispered soft apologies to his little brother as he slowly leaned down on the bed so that they were both comfortable while lying down. Sam shifted from the embrace to place his head on Dean's chest, listening to his heartbeat. Dean rubbed small circles on the small of Sam's back which was another trick to get him sleepy. He felt Sam try to kick off his boots and kicked them off so that he could have his entire being on the bed which now seemed like a comfort heaven. He heard Sam sniffle once more before hearing him softly snore as he drifted off to sleep.

Dean whispered once more before dozing off. "Shh, it's alright Sammy. Dean's gonna be right here . . . I'm right here, bud," he said, yawning loudly, tiredly. Sam's grip on Dean's bare chest tightened slightly, for him fearing that his brother might leave him again. Dean yawned again and ran his hand through Sam's hair to reassure him.

"I'm not going to leave you," he said. He turned his body so that he didn't have to put any pressure on his back. "I'm staying right here." Sam nodded and finally relaxed.

He knew that tonight, there weren't going to be any monsters. No more nightmares. He had been suffering alone but now that Dean's here, to protect him, all of those demons, or ghosts, or monsters, whatever fucker that 's trying to get him, they should all know that Dean is his knight in shining armor.

_I don't care if that sounds too girly . . . but I've always thought that since I was little. Heh, I still remember what Dean would always say: "Shoot first, ask questions later." _ Sam chuckled to himself in his sleep as his thoughts were running in his mind. He licked his lips wondering if he should say what he wanted to say.

"I . . . I love you, Dean," he said quietly, blushing a little in embarrassment. He knew Dean couldn't see his face but his voice gave him away. A smile pulled up on Dean's tired but good looking features.

"I love you, too, Sammy."

* * *

**PLEASE REVIEW, FAVORITE, AND FOLLOW!**

**I hope you guys liked this one-shot (is this a one-shot? Idk). This is my not-first-fanfic of Supernatural but it is the first one that I posted!** **I really hope you guys liked this fic and I hope that it doesn't suck too badly. I think I was trying a little hard in the beginning but I think it turned out alright.**

**Let me know if you guys like the whole "distant Dean" and maybe I'll give it another shot?**

**And it's also February which means a lot of misery and loneliness for all the unloved and single personas out there!—I don't think anyone should be too happy about that. BUT! I hope anyone who reads this loves this fic and I hope you guys are lovey dovey about Supernatural! **


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter and new version of "Distant Soldier" or "Distant Dean"! Be warned that this chapter holds foul language and abuse. "Abusive Dean" ahead. This is when Dean is distant but also very intact in his brother's life. This chapter is unrelated-but-related to the first chapter. Different story plot behind it. I hope you guys understand what this chapter's gonna be about. So, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Hey, Sam!" Mitchell, Sam's friend from school, ran up to him. "Where's your brother?" he asked, looking around.

Sam sighed softly as he switched his weight to his left foot. He's been standing awkwardly outside the school for almost thirty minutes now.

"He's . . . running late . . . again," he mumbled. Mitchell nodded slowly.

"Again, huh? Well, that sucks." Mitchell ran his hand through his blond hair. He looked at Sam and then back at the road. He gasped when something caught his eye. He turned back, looking at Sam.

Sam felt Mitchell's staring and looked back at him. "What? What is it?" he asked. Mitchell cleared his throat and scratched his head.

"That bruise is big as hell, man." Sam's eyes widened slightly. He thought he covered it up! He fixed his hoodie over his neck a little bit more. "What happened?"

"Nothing, dude," Sam said, trying to brush it off. But knowing Mitchell, who is just a pain in the ass as Sam is when he's curious, wasn't going to.

"Was it him again?" Sam sighed once more. He looked away from Mitchell's blue eyes. _Since when did I start telling him about Dean? _he asked himself. Sam finally nodded. Mitchell clicked his tongue. "Sam, why does he hurt you?"

"I guess he doesn't like me very much."

"But he's your brother. How can he _not _like you? How can anybody not like you? Ahem—well—as a friend obviously, I like you. You know what I mean!" Mitchell was stuttering and just babbling and that seemed to get a giggle out of Sam.

"I don't know, Mitchell. For some reason, I piss Dean off and I don't know how. When we're at home and stuff, he gets as far away from me as possible! And then out of nowhere, I see punches being thrown at me!" Sam gave a frustrated sigh as he fumbled with his curly brown locks. "He even says horrible shit to me," he mumbled quietly.

Mitchell almost didn't hear him but then he asked, "Like what?" Sam sniffled a bit from the cold air.

"He says stuff like, 'You killed my mom!' and 'Fuck you, you piece of shit!'"

"He says things like that! What does your dad do when that happens?" the blond asked. Sam began to bounce on his heels, trying to get over the fact that he didn't want to tell his friend any of this, he didn't want Dean to find out, he wanted to go home, and it was fucking cold!

"Dad punched him once . . . it was when Dad found out that Dean had beaten me for the first time in my life. Like a real beating. Not some belt-on-the-ass action, but a _real _beating." Sam shivered slightly. He felt as if something was coming.

"What . . . what kind of beating? Sorry Sam but as you can see, I come from a perfectly suburban _bat-shit-insane _family and I will _never_ experience the shit you've been through," Mitchell said, trying to sound humorous. Too bad for him, Sam took it all in and agreed because the shit's he's been through will never, ever compare to these kids around his age.

Suddenly, a familiar rumble sounded through both of the teens' ears. Sam knew the sound very well and almost took great comfort in it until he saw who was driving the marvelous vehicle. Sam let out the breath he was holding.

"Get in," was all Dean said. Sam said a quiet goodbye to Mitchell and hopped in the passenger seat of the Impala.

"W-Wait!" Mitchell ran up to the Impala and God forbid him that he doesn't die in the next twenty-four hours as he placed his pale hands on the door of the car. Sam stared hysterically at Mitchell.

"Are you fucking crazy?! What the hell is it? And get your hands off the car you dumbass!" Sam whispered frantically. Mitchell panted heavily as he tried to catch his breath, all of a sudden feeling like knives were stabbing him in the throat.

"Is it okay if I come with?" Mitchell asked Dean. Dean didn't even acknowledge him let alone look at him or Sam. He kept his eyes on the empty road in front of him. "Uh, me and Sam have a school project," he lied. Sam inwardly punched himself in the face. _You can't _lie_ to him you fuckface! He knows everything! He's my brother!_

"How important is it?" rumbled Dean's low, husky voice.

"Very." Dean suppressed a sigh as he glared emerald daggers at the blond kid.

"Hop in. Don't touch anything." Mitchell gave a loud sigh of relief as he hopped in the backseat of the Impala.

Sam sighed to himself, glad that he hasn't died yet. _This is gonna suck!_

* * *

Once home, the three males were greeted by the oldest Winchester who was sitting at the dinner table reading the newspaper, probably looking for some jobs that were available in the area.

"Dad," Dean said as his greeting as he walked past him to get a beer out of the fridge. Sam walked in behind him.

"Hey Dad," he said quietly. Mitchell walked up behind him and put a hand up in a cool gesture.

"Hello, Mr. Winchester! Nice to meet ya!" he said as cheerily as possible.

John sipped his cup of coffee and stared at the blond teenager. "Sam, who the hell is this?" Sam cleared his throat and looked from his father, to Dean's avoiding back, to Mitchell's blue eyes.

"This is my friend, from school. His name is Mitchell," he said. Gosh, was Sam feeling nervous? More like a bomb being strapped to his chest! Mitchell nodded.

"We're gonna be working on a project," Mitchell added in. John nodded slowly.

"How important is it?" he asked. Mitchell almost blew a breath of shock.

"Do all Winchesters ask that?" he whispered into Sam's ear. Sam sighed. He didn't respond, but what he was thinking . . . _only because we have better shit to do. School projects aren't our thing, I guess. _"Very, Mr. Winchester. We could _fail_ if we don't get it done soon," Mitchell emphasized dramatically. John nodded at him. Sam knew that he was being sarcastic so he just pulled Mitchell along to follow him to his bedroom, which thank God that he didn't share with Dean. Doesn't mean that his big brother hadn't been in there at all, though.

"Sam, your room is as bare as a baby's ass," Mitchell commented. Sam smacked his friend behind the head. "Ow!"

"Dumbass! You've lied twice! To my brother and to my dad! They will _kill_ you!" Sam yelled quietly. He paced around his small room. "I can't believe you! Why would you come here?"

"To protect you!"

"I can't be protected! I am fine!" Mitchell scoffed a bit at that.

"Oh really . . ." Mitchell gulped slightly as his voice grew quiet all of a sudden. He pointed to Sam's bed. "Then explain to me why there's a big ass blood stain on your bed, Sam?" Sam gulped, turning around to glance at his bed. He walked over and threw the dark blue covers back over the sheets.

"My home life doesn't concern you, Mitchell," Sam uttered out. Mitchell drew out a breath of frustration.

"I am your friend, Sam. It does concern me!" Mitchell walked up to him. "Friends don't like seeing other friends get hurt, and almost every day I see a new scar or bruise that you poorly try to hide from me!"

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was grateful for having a friend like Mitchell who cared for him, but this was just a bad idea to bring him here, to see and witness all of the evidence of his beatings. A knock was heard on his door. Without even stepping to answer, it busted open and in walked in Dean, not giving a damn that Sam had a _guest. _

"Yeah, Dean?" he asked. Dean just stood in the middle of Sam's room and looked around.

"I don't see anything resembling you guys working on a project. So if you're just gonna pussyfoot around, I suggest that it's time for me to take your little boyfriend home." Sam stared wide eyed at his brother.

"No, no, we were just gonna start!" Sam dropped his book bag on the floor and started taking out random shit, textbooks, notebooks, rulers, etc. He gave a quick look to Mitchell telling him to do the same.

"Good," Dean said, a small grin appearing on his face. He took a seat across the room on Sam's beanbag chair. "Feel free to ignore me as I make sure that you're getting your work done since this project is _very_ important." Sam swallowed the large lump that was forming in his throat. He was sweating, he could feel it. It was getting hot and he wasn't sure it was because of the temperature of the room.

"Y-Yeah, yeah. Sure, stay," Sam stuttered. Mitchell stared between the two brothers. He was caught in his lie and if he didn't act on it now, he didn't know what was going to happen.

Sam's mind was going blank. He didn't know what lie he could come up with and even if he did, Dean would see right through him.

After thirty minutes of sitting there and neither one of them has done anything remotely relating to any sort of project, Dean stood up and walked out of the room. After a short while, he came back with their dad.

"Sam's boyfriend, whatever your name is, you're going home," Dean said. He bent down and picked up whatever shit was on the floor and shoved it in Mitchell's bag. He stood back up and threw the bag into the other room. He gave the blond boy a smile and quietly said, "You obviously lied about a project. Sam's got more important things to do; I don't think he needs to get freaky-deeky with you."

Mitchell couldn't say anything as he was being pulled from the room by John Winchester who was going to take him home.

Sam stared wide eyed and speechless as Dean shut his bedroom door and locked it. He sighed.

"Oh you've done it now, little brother," Dean gritted as he walked towards Sam and grabbed a handful of his curly locks. Sam winced in pain.

"D-Dean!" Dean pulled at Sam's hair and with his strength, threw the fourteen-year-old on his disheveled bed. Sam had no time to move as his brother quickly toppled him and had his hands tied by an old, raggedy belt. "Dean!" Sam yelled. Dean chuckled softly.

"You know better than to tell a lie, Sammy." Dean was working on removing Sam's sweatshirt. He managed to pull it over his head. He smiled as he glanced over his little brother's fine body, which was covered with painful scars and bruises. Some old, and some new. Dean took out a long chain that was hooked in his belt loop.

"Wh-What are you gonna do with that?" Sam asked shakily. He struggled against his brother but he just couldn't move under his weight and him being strained. Dean only lightly swung the chain around with the flick of his wrist.

"Shut the hell up, Sammy," Dean whispered. He cupped both ends of the chain and brought it down to place it against Sam's neck. Sam flinched as the cold metal touched his skin. Dean wrapped the chain lightly around Sam's neck and chuckled again before he pulled on it, making Sam jump from surprise and let out a shrill scream of pain.

"Ah!" Sam coughed as Dean continued to strangle him with the chain. "S-Stop!"

Dean, still enjoying this, pulled on the chain a little harder, smiling as he heard the sounds of Sam struggling to gasp for air. Tears were running down Sam's cheeks and that's when Dean finally let go of the chain. Sam gasped deeply and coughed as his lungs and throat burned. He glanced up at his brother as he watched him dig in his pocket for something.

Dean reached in his leather coat pocket for something and he smiled when he felt it. He took out a sharp, metal needle. Dean brought the needle down against Sam's chest, but before doing it, he wiped his hand against the sweaty skin. Dean chastised his little brother. "Sammy, why are you so sweaty?" he asked. Sam breathed in heavily, making his chest rise.

"You make me nervous . . . and scared . . ." he uttered out, breathless. Dean grinned.

"Good." Dean brought the needle down again and pressed it in and started to drag it along Sam's skin. Sam cringed and let out a low groan as pain filled him.

"D-Dean!" he droned out. "Please stop!" he screamed. Dean was dragging the needle up and down Sam's chest and he didn't know if Dean was doodling or writing something. Dean then took out his phone, not before wiping his bloody hands on Sam's hoodie, and then took a picture of Sam's chest. Dean turned the phone and lowered it over Sam's face so he could see. "_'YOU'RE MINE, SAMMY,_'" Sam repeated as he read the writing off the picture that was supposedly on his now bloody and skinned chest. Another tear fell from his hazel eyes.

"Dean . . . I-I think I got that message long ago," he whispered dryly. Dean snickered at him.

"Really? Did it now? Oh, you little bitch," he said. Dean finally got off of his brother, but he didn't plan on removing the binds just yet. He left the room to go fetch himself another beer.

Sam lay there on his bed once again, bleeding madly. He allowed himself to tear up like he always has ever since Dean became this way. It was no use in reaching out to make Dean come to his senses. Even their dad can't do anything to stop it. Sam looked at his bedroom door that was slightly open when Dean had left the room. He caught a glimpse of his dad and that's when John Winchester looked right back at his youngest son.

"Dad!" Sam called desperately. "Dad!" he struggled once again but the binds wouldn't let up. He looked back into the door crack to see his father's face.

John looked back at his son and couldn't help but regret ignoring him, again. He took his beer and walked slowly back to his room.

"Dad!" Sam cried. Sam hiccupped from the pain and his crying. "Dad!" he whimpered. "Dean! Let me go!" Sam kicked at nothing as he tried to get off the bed. Without even noticing, he felt a sharp sting across his stomach. He opened his teary eyes to stare up at Dean who had a whip in his hand.

"Hm, I guess that wasn't hard enough," Dean mumbled. Dean pulled back the whip and let it crack. Sam let out a painful scream as his back arched in pain. Sam cried loudly as he continued to get whipped.

"Dean!" he tried to reason with him. "Please stop! Please stop, Dean!" Dean paused in his beating and stared Sam straight in the eye.

"You killed my mother," he said, before giving Sam another slash, hot and hard as the sun's rays.

* * *

**I hope you guys enjoyed this new chapter of "Distant Soldier!" Please review, favorite, and follow! Feel free to review and tell me if you have any other ideas of "Distant Dean."**


	3. Chapter 3

"Dad, can you help me?" Sam asked. He just got home from school and he needs help with some algebra, even though he doesn't need to do the work, and plus he's a smart kid. He doesn't need any help, does he?

John looked at his boy and looked back at the newspaper in his hand, colored with red circles everywhere. He takes the cap of his red pen out of his mouth and starts speaking, "Why don't you ask Dean?" he asked, his voice sounding deep and gruff as usual. The way he asked made the look on Sam's face waver, even though John was seriously wondering why he didn't ask Dean. He would usually ask Dean, wouldn't he?

"He said he's busy." John gave a light scoff.

"Busy with what?" Sam shrugged.

"He was busy filling the bullets with rock salt. Anyways, can you help me . . . Please?" Sam asked. He gave his father the puppy-dog eyes and we all know that no one can resist Sammy Winchester's puppy-dog eyes, though it's too bad, because his older brother used to be a sucker for 'em.

John sighed, a small smile drawing across his face. "Alright, kiddo. Take a seat." Sam wanted to jump excitedly but he knew it'd be childish, and his dad could probably only stand his cuteness once a day, or maybe never. He knows Dean cannot and would not stand for it anymore. He tells him to get down to business, or even worse, when Dean stared at him with a cold, icy glare.

Which sucks because, every time when Sam looked into his brother's eyes, a perfect green that matches the leaves in the sunlight, he used to feel relaxed and safe and comforted. Now, you know, he still feels safe, it's just that his brother doesn't seem like the type of person who would console him anymore.

Sam was able to finish his math problem in two seconds-tops. John gave a small smirk of pride. He knew his son knew the answer, honestly, he wondered why a fourteen-year-old would receive such a hard question as that. But he knew Sam was smarter than a regular fourteen-year-old . . . he almost felt guilty that his son had become so smart, that he has to pretend he doesn't know things. And he's ashamed because he knows why Sam pretends.

The boy just wants to get his brother's attention.

Sam leaves the table, just before giving his dad a playful salute but then turning all serious he says, "Thank you, Sir," and heads off to the main room of their motel to put away his homework. He quickly decides to pull on his boots and heads outside to the parking lot to chill with the Impala. Since Dean was busy with the guns, Sam might as well give their baby a nice wash, 'cause on the last hunt they've been on, JEEZ—the mudslide they've been through!

Sam borrows a bucket from the main desk and dish detergent from the janitor's closet. He grabs the rag from the trunk used to clean the Impala and then he starts to dip and splat on the hood while humming one of the songs he's learned by heart from the one and only Dean Winchester who taught him how to sing it and wing it.

It takes him almost two hours to scrub off all of the dried mud and he just hopes that when Baby dries, she's spotless and shiny but that doesn't look like it's going to be the case. So Sam spends another hour rewashing the Impala, going over every single part, including the edge of the windows with the crusty parts, and the insides of her beautiful wheels.

By the time he's called back into their motel room, he notices that it's already 8:30 p.m. and Dean had already made them dinner: lasagna with two bottles of beer and one glass of milk. Sam knows not to keep Dean waiting, but the only gratitude he's received from his brother was a look in the eye that wasn't as fearful as he'd thought it'd be. He was glad, which meant that Dean let him off the hook for keeping them waiting for half an hour to eat. The Impala meant everything to the Winchesters, she was family. Cleaning her was not only a job, it was a given, and a treatment, a spa treatment, let her relax and purr as her engines roar!

After dinner, Sam stayed up for another hour or two watching old cartoons on the cheap TV they had. Dad had already gone to bed and Dean was sitting in the corner reading a book. Sam would glance from time to time at his brother and silently wish for him to come and watch TV with him, or sit down next to him, at least a little bit of acknowledgement from him. But he got nothing.

Dean had sneezed once and Sam said, "God bless you," and then Dean sent a glare at him. His older brother looked back at his page in his book before saying, "There is no God." Sam became sad instantly and turned the volume down as he slumped on the couch, trying to hide his head from his brother's line of vision.

"Sorry," he muttered, "'Forgot."

And once again, back to square one, getting nowhere near Dean, not even close. In fact, he had just pushed him away again. Of course Dean would say there is no God. They've lost a couple of people over the years, but the most important was their mom. Sam doesn't even know her, but she meant a lot to Dean. He could only imagine nights where Dean had prayed to God, hoping the Big Man would hear him and bring his mother back. But that never happened.

Sam would sometimes and almost all the time, pray to God, hoping for some chance to one day click a connection between him and Dean again. They were brothers, yes, but that connection, that brotherly bond, Dean threw it out. But then once a while, Sam would just look at his brother and smile sadly.

"_At least he still has my amulet,"_ Sam would say, giving one last look to the small pendent around his brother's neck before walking away.

Sam snaps out of his little daze before standing up slowly, stretching out his tired body. He looks at Dean. Even though they both share a room, a simple conversation never holds up for even five minutes before its lights out. Sam's hand is on the knob for the door to their bedroom. "G'night, Dean," he says. His brother just nods, not looking away from his book. Sam opens the door and looks back at his brother. "Love you," he says softly. Dean nods again. Sam looks down at the floor as he walks into the dark room and flops onto his bed, welcoming his soft pillow to help him dream of times where he and Dean were buddy-buddy and even cuddly-cuddly.

* * *

**Well, I've been under a rock for a very long time! This is it for now but there will be a part two to this chapter. I want to thank Carrie (Guest) for your review, I loved it and I made this as soon as I read your review. You, *wink*, are an inspiration! I hope I can make this as much to your liking but since I like your suggestion as well, I'm not going to hold back (maybe a little, but, you know!).**

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**Tell me some more about what you think of "Distant Soldier" or "Distant Dean!" Any suggestions? Anything you like? Let me know, por favor! All ears!**


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